Prince Rama

Brooklyn/Boston-based three piece Prince Rama make psych music. Deep psych music. This isn't folk with a few tribal drums, or plain old rock with some flanged triangle thrown in for no reason. There's sanskrit chants. Zonked synths. And, yes, more than a few tribal drums. Their freak-outs were convincing enough for members of Animal Collective, who recently signed them to their Paw Tracks label and helped record their fourth album, Shadow Temple, due out September 14. (Check out the track "Lightening Fossil" here.)

Made up of two sisters-- Taraka and Nimai Larson-- and their friend Michael Collins, Prince Rama met while living in a Hare Krishna-heavy community in Florida while in high school. They started as a self-described "Blink 182 rip-off band," and it was only after the trio started taking college art classes that they came up with the decidedly more out-there sounds that define their current incarnation. Their latest release, Architecture of Utopia, was inspired by outsider artist Paul Laffoley, Elvis' twin brother Jesse (who died at birth), and the idea of a vinyl record as utopic paradigm. (Listen to the whole album here or embedded below.) Which would probably lead one to believe that these guys were on some serious shit.

But in reality, they're high on cosmic theory more than anything else. Though primary singer and songwriter Taraka showed up to our interview in the same bedazzled dress she wears in the above picture, the trio were more down to earth than their music may suggest. Nimai and Takara aren't practicing Hare Krishnas anymore. They don't do drugs. They like Drake. But that's not to say they're faking the freak-- they've just internalized the spaciness of psychedelic godheads like Amon Düül and Tangerine Dream so much that it just rolls out of them at this point.

Learn more about their embarrassing first encounter with Animal Collective's Avey Tare, "logarithmic forms that spiral in towards infinite time," and, of course, Insane Clown Posse in our Q&A below:

Pitchfork: You guys met while living in on a Krishna farm in Gainesville, Florida. What is a Krishna farm, exactly?

Nimai Larson: Well, the largest community of Hare Krishnas in North America is in Alachua, Florida.

Michael Collins: It's just 10 miles outside of Gainesville-- there are a lot of cow fields and rednecks. But it's not like a commune or anything. It's not totally different from people going to church on Sundays, but instead you're going to temple and chanting and dancing and freaking out. The services are mind-blowing. It's centered around music and you're supposed to dance and lose yourself.

Taraka Larson: I don't go to the temple now and it's not like I'm practicing in the external sense, really. My parents joined in the 60s and at that time it was really important-- there was a group mentality. I could be pulling this out of my ass, but I feel our generation approaches things on a more individual basis, like we're more personal and don't need to be a part of a group.

MC: I'm still active in the Krishna community in Boston-- when you're sick of shows it's nice to enter this sanctuary where there's people from this different dimension.

Pitchfork: Would you say there are some lingering elements of Krishna services within your live shows?

NL: Yeah for sure. Some of our songs are mantras-- call-and-response sanskrit chants.

TL: The mantras we've chosen are definitely ones that have a more personal meaning, though. They're not mantras my parents taught us.

Pitchfork: I feel like if some people listened to your recent release, Architecture of Utopia, they'd think, "Oh, this is just a bunch of kids on drugs doing weird shit."

TL: Well, we don't do any drugs. That album is actually a concept album, each song was inspired by a painting by outsider artist Paul Laffoley, who I apprenticed with. So I just listened to him spill his philosophy of the world for hours every week. The idea of the album came from these diagrams he's been working on that enter into a utopian space through logarithmic forms that spiral in towards infinite time. It clicked with me and I was like, "That's like a vinyl record!" So all of the songs were based around the idea of looking at the record as this topocosmic model of the earth in our own minds.

Pitchfork: Do you look at music as a gateway to that utopic state?

TL: Yeah. I'm really into utopia as this literal concept. After touring a lot I got really interested in how an ordinary place gets transformed into a utopic space. Like, you go into this dingy basement with a three-legged blind dog and all these people laying around, half-drunk. And all of a sudden the music starts and the lights go out and everyone just starts loosing themselves. And then everyone leaves and you wake up the next morning and get on the fucking road.

NL: I had to really find a utopia on tour because you want to be home or you want to stay in just one place. We were basically homeless for about eight months while on the road and we didn't know what our next step was-- it was scary. Not having a home could make you really imbalanced, but all three of us realized this utopia of not having a home, just focusing on music, and having the rest of the world be comforting to our hearts.

MC: Yeah, my ideal show is when I forget my existence within space. I think that's where the utopia lies.

Pitchfork: Do you ever run into people who are surprised you're not on drugs?

TL: Yeah, all the time. People think we're on crazy drugs. We were in Houston at this super run-of-the-mill, suburban taco place and the dude serving us talked to us for a little bit and then he came up and was like, "I bought some, do you want it? I'm just out of jail so I'm not supposed to be doing this but don't worry." There were families all around us. He was like "I know you're into this."

NL: We were like, "Oh no, that's cool." I've tried drugs, and they just make me freak out. I've talked to a lot of musicians who've said it's great to play on acid but it's already crazy onstage! If I was doing acid, I would be grounded and paranoid. I don't want to be thinking that way. I just want to be like: Music-- go!

TL: I've never actually done drugs and I've always wondered what it would be like to do drugs and listen to this kind of music because obviously people are getting something from it. I can't say if I'm a step ahead or behind.

Pitchfork: How did you hook up with Animal Collective's label Paw Tracks for your upcoming album, Shadow Temple?

NL: We went down to SXSW this year and met Dave [Portner, aka Avey Tare], who was really interested in putting it out and we were like, "Thank god! Help! Awesome!"

Pitchfork: He was just at your SXSW show?

TL: Yeah, we weren't even supposed to play that night. We just came to see our friends who were putting on a showcase and they were like, "Wanna play?" It was kind of embarrassing because when I first met Dave I had no idea who he was. I was a serious fan of Animal Collective in high school but I wasn't that kind of fan that knew what they looked like. So I was like, "Who is this dude hanging out at the merch stand asking us all these detailed questions about all our releases?" And then he was like, "You guys kind of remind me of early Gang Gang Dance." So I said, "Yeah, I saw Gang Gang Dance a long time ago when they were on tour with Animal Collective-- before they were, like, Animal Collective." And he was like. "I'm in that band."

I feel like if you mention Animal Collective now there's this weird thing where people are like, "Oh yeah, Animal Collective." But their early stuff really has a special place with me-- not to diss their later stuff, which is cool too.

Pitchfork: Is your new album different from your other releases?

MC: It's a lot darker. We were all sort of going through crazy shit during the making of it. It's like our Tusk.

TL: All of our stuff got stolen in Philly last October so this album was completely made on new shit. There was this amazing process of losing everything. We didn't know what to do. I put out a MySpace post and set up this PayPal account and we were overwhelmed by how we were able to collect enough money-- about $4,000-- to re-buy everything. That had a huge influence on the making of the album, like all of these instruments are as much a part of everyone else as they are ours.

NL: The album is like an offering.

Pitchfork: Recovering your gear sounds pretty positive, so why is this record so dark?

NL: Most of it was written in that period when we didn't really have a home, so all of the struggles from the road or with relationships or with God were coming up. It's such a big transformation process going out of college into the real world.

MC: Yeah, me and Taraka split up after like seven years during the making of the album, too. But we're chill now.

Pitchfork: Were you worried that would break up the band, too?

TL: I kind of was at one point.

MC: I had my doubts, too. But we were all committed to the band, and it brings me so much happiness and joy and fulfilment. Earlier this year, we were all living with each other and it was just a mess.

NL: We were in this warehouse space in Dumbo, trying to go on tour together and get our feet on the ground after break ups. And I was living above a couple that had crazy fairy sex all night.

TL: The people we were living with were super into fairies. It was a nightmare. I'm aware that a lot of people might think we're just airy-fairy hippies but life is not that chill. We've gone through a lot of shit. Last January was probably one of the worst months of our lives. It felt like that Insane Clown Posse song "Fuck the World". So when we met Dave at SXSW, it had so much more meaning.